


Cut

by Jojora



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7344211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojora/pseuds/Jojora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the murder, Connor has developed a fear of blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut

Oliver dropped his groceries on the kitchen counter and began to unpack them. “I was thinking I would make a stir fry for dinner,” he called out to Connor, who was immersed in a law book on the couch.

Connor made a non-committal grunt as he turned the page. 

Oliver didn’t know why he even bothered asking. Connor barely acknowledged his presence these days. Exactly two weeks ago, Oliver had woken up one morning and found Connor sitting on the couch, holding the physical copy of his Stanford acceptance letter that had arrived after the email. Connor had been eerily calm as he explained to Oliver that he had called to accept his seat at Stanford and asked Oliver if he had rejected it for him. Oliver came clean, expecting a full blown screaming match, and had instead been met with silence. Connor had simply walked out the door to go to class. Then he came back at the end of the day and went to bed, and did the same thing the next day, and the day after. Oliver kept thinking maybe he just needed some time to process it, but now it had been two weeks and they’d never discussed it. Instead they'd been living in this weird limbo, where Connor was physically present in the apartment, but completely emotionally distant. Barely speaking, but always coming home. He was clearly very angry with Oliver on the inside but for some reason unwilling to express that anger.

Oliver busied himself with chopping up some vegetables for the stir fry. He had been trying his best to just act normal, because even the slightest attempt at discussing it with Connor would always make Connor freeze him out completely for the rest of the day. He was sending a very clear signal that he did not want to talk about it. But at this point, the amount of grumbles and small talk he could get out of Connor on a good day wasn’t much better than no communication at all.

“Do you think I should add chicken to it?” Oliver asked. Connor didn’t respond, so Oliver took a deep breath and tried again. “Connor?” he asked.

Connor looked up wearily from his book. 

“Do you want chicken in the stir fry?”

Connor just shrugged. 

Oliver grimaced and chopped his vegetables a little more aggressively. He was getting so fed up with this. He knew he deserved it and so much more for what he had done, and he was honestly surprised Connor was still around at all, but this was pure torture. Connor could at least let him know if there was anything Oliver could ever do to make up for it, or if Connor was ever going to forgive him, or if this was just how things would be forever. 

“Ahh fuck!” Oliver gasped. He had been distracted thinking about Connor and sliced his finger with the knife, which was now bleeding quite profusely. He held it up in the air and blood trickled down his hand and wrist. 

Connor looked up at the sound. Oliver rushed to run his hand under the sink water. Then he pulled his hand out of the water and pressed a towel to it. 

“Shit. I hope it doesn’t need stitches” Oliver muttered as he held the towel tight, trying to stop the bleeding.

He looked over at Connor again and Connor's eyes were wide and his face was pale. He was staring blankly at the spot where Oliver had first held his hand up. “Connor?... Connor!” Oliver called out, trying to get his attention. He would have been waving his arms if he wasn't currently trying to ensure his finger remained on his hand. 

Connor turned to look at Oliver, blinking slowly. “I-“ he started, but trailed off, swaying slightly and swallowing hard. His breathing had increased and his face looked completely lost. 

“Jesus, Connor. What’s wrong with you?” Oliver asked, his voice laced with concern. 

Connor just shook his head, and then in a blur of motion he was running for the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. 

Oliver stood there in shock for a moment before his brain caught up with his body and his concern for Connor grew much deeper. He gingerly pulled the towel off of his finger and was relieved to see that it had mostly stopped bleeding, and now that it wasn't bleeding, it wasn't nearly as bad as he had imagined it would be. He threw the bloody towel in the trash, and then grabbed the first aid kit from his bedroom to quickly disinfect and bandage the cut. Once it was covered and he could say he had tended to his very immediate needs, he tried to ignore the throbbing as he turned his attention back to Connor. 

He knocked softly on the bathroom door. “Connor?” 

Connor didn’t respond, but Oliver could hear the shower running. He slowly pushed the door open. Connor was hunched over beneath the water spray, leaning his forearms against the wall with his head hanging down, breathing heavily. Oliver could tell by the temperature of the bathroom and the goosebumps on Connor's skin that the water was freezing cold. He knew that Connor only took freezing cold showers to ward off the panic attacks he had started getting recently, which he claimed was a result of drug recovery, because he said that the extreme physical sensation grounded him. 

“Are you okay?” 

Connor didn't look up, but he nodded. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just… the blood…” Connor squeezed his eyes shut tight and then opened them again, as if he were trying to erase the image from his mind. Then he reached out and abruptly shut off the water. 

“I never would have thought you would be the queasy type,” Oliver remarked, but Connor ignored the comment as he shakily got out of the shower and dried himself off with a towel. He pulled on his boxers and walked silently past Oliver, into the bedroom. 

“I think the stir fry is ruined, but I can order us a pizza or something?” Oliver asked. 

“I’m not hungry,” Connor muttered as he laid down on the bed and rubbed his face with his hands. 

Oliver couldn’t help but notice that he still looked like a complete wreck. It seemed like a pretty extreme reaction to a little cut. But he knew that he and Connor weren’t at a place where he could ask about it. So he nodded and started towards the bedroom door, intending to clean up the kitchen and give Connor his space. 

“Ollie?” Connor’s voice called after him, and he paused in the door, turning around to face Connor again with a sudden unexpected warmth in his chest. He hadn’t heard the nickname in a while, and even though it was such a simple thing, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. 

“Can you just stay with me for a minute please?” Connor’s voice was small and strained. 

Oliver nodded and came back over to sit on the bed next to Connor. Connor didn’t move any closer to him, and he continued to lie on his back with his gaze towards the ceiling. But when Oliver reached out and grabbed one of his hands with his own uninjured one, Connor didn’t pull away. It was the most contact they’d had in the last two weeks. 

Connor's skin was cold and clammy from the shower. Oliver stroked his thumb with his own and when he looked back up at his face, he noticed that there were silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He felt a pang in his chest at the sight. 

“Connor,” Oliver started softly, but Connor just turned his head away from Oliver as if doing so would hide his face.

“Don't” Connor whispered. 

They were both silent for a moment, and then Connor looked back at Oliver. "I'm so sorry," he muttered. 

Oliver frowned slightly. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who fucked everything up. I don't understand why you haven't left me already.”

But Connor just shook his head. He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, tugging at Oliver’s hand until Oliver took the hint and laid down next to him, pulling Connor into his arms. He had no idea why Connor was so incredibly worked up or what was going on in his head, but he was at least grateful for the sudden intimacy after weeks of receiving a cold shoulder. 

“I can't leave you. I need you.” Connor mumbled into Oliver's chest.

“I’m right here.” Oliver whispered back. 

And Connor curled up just a little tighter in Oliver’s embrace.


End file.
